By Gracie Brinker
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Amidst the glitz and glamour of a roaring night, between the clinking of champagne glass and casual conversations, slithering through the bump and grind of drunken partygoers, is the shell of a broken woman. She haunts the halls of the mansion like it was all her purpose in life, as if she was born just to die and become a wandering spirit. She tussled with a creature too dangerous and it killed her. They found her body in the ocean, a struggle being had; a rumor of a creature coming up and sending her soul to the seven seas, forever cursing her to wander the waters in search of herself again. Rumor says she may be unaware of the fact that she's dead, so as to never approach her ghost. She attempts to fill the void that the man she once loved left inside her before he had to transform into the hideous monster.
They never played games. People could agree and say that this whole subcategory of dating is disrespectful; roping someone into thinking you like them while instead you could care less. She had never been one for casual kissing, and through the lens of his curious eyes, they both never saw short term. She always thought that was the reason she liked him so much. He never showed her pretend. His love for her was never an act. His smile never faltered when he looked at her. She had once been in love with so many eyes that never sparked like lightbulbs when she spoke, until she met him. Until she learned his heart, she wanted to chase that light forever. She wanted to glimpse across the sea every night and see them shine from a distance. If she could take the opportunity to grasp at every piece of him she could find, she would stare directly into the sun. She would search the skies for traces of him floating in the air. He became a legend only few locals could tell the tale of, but not everyone might believe in its existence. People want real proof nowadays. She began to learn this quickly, wrestling with the current and trying to pull herself upstream.
If she really wanted to, she could have avoided it. It was the easiest thing to do in this scenario. It’s all she really could do. Because if he wouldn’t even give her the decency to talk it out, she had to resort to the aching memories. She wished she could push it to the side and just forget it. She would write it down in her diary and wish on hundreds of stars to forget. It wouldn’t go away. So many people write books on how to just “let go “, yet few of them truly know the feeling of a moment in time chaining them down. Like when the sea monster of unnecessary dread slithers his slimy tentacles onto the ship, wrapping up and tossing a body overboard. The memories will drag you down to Davy Jones’ locker. Where it’s dark, and because it's so dark, there is nothing to keep the mind off the crater in your soul. The loss of the one you once loved will tackle you in the dark. You won't be able to see until you're eaten by the monster in pitch black. Locals will call that monster a myth; a tale that only few claim to be true. Back in those times, they'd lock you away if you so happen to mention anything other than ordinary. Most people just kept their mouths shut; her words swam for miles.
She knows she can move on to whoever she wants, but he still lurks in the deep sea. Until the sword pierces his belly, the beast will continue to drag unwilling pirates into the depths of their weakest moments. There will still be people around to talk about him as long as he’s still alive. Folks gather around campfires to tell the tale of a fabled mythical creature. No, not Nessie. Far worse. They show off their weapons, preaching perilous stories about their encounters with the monster. She can only roll her eyes. They don't know the monster like she does. They’ll never experience the triumph against the deep sea like she has. They can wage war with any creature they want to, but they’ll never know her’s. They won’t know the dread of staring into the eyes of the love of your life and watching them form into a hideous beast. They’ve been telling stories of inhuman transformations since before Jekyll and Hyde; since before they planted the idea of separating the good and the bad into our minds. For some people, you could separate the good and the bad, and one would be significantly larger than the other. Their bad side might be a grotesque amalgamation of pure terror! Something that deserves to be locked away where the public cannot see. And possibly, their good side might be as small as a thumbnail. As in they could squish every positive thing about them between their fingers. Then there would be nothing good to say about the boy that broke her heart. Not that she ever had anything left anyways.
When the monster knows it's night, it will approach the surface with uncertainty. It's a nightly routine. This could be the risk of a lifetime. Just an ounce of vulnerability and it’s dead meat. And then someone will have another story about a monster they've killed. They'll make a plaque about them in the town square; a cheap statue they make about the “hero” that will rust within 20 years. It would be humiliating for the monster, though, so it usually approaches when it knows the world outside is mostly asleep or out enjoying the night. Most people don't dwell on the water during the night, for they believe it's much scarier. When you can't see what's below your feet, your mind immediately races to fear. It's probably the reason why so many people can't swim in natural waters. They've heard of the unlikely tales of an alligator, emerging from the deep and unhinging its jaw, dragging them into the murky depths below. Most people tend to avoid even looking at the water in the dark, because they're afraid of what they might see. The creature will scan the area for any sign of life, but its own eyes will focus instead on the happenings of a lively party coming from a large house. Barely visible through terrible eyesight, but the monster knows it's there. He's been invited before, but he never plans on attending.
She'll see him before he sees her. She spots the outline of his ginormous form, two bright lights shining back at her; beacons of what she's lost. She could spot those lights out of a crowd of a thousand discos, but tonight, they just look like dim bulbs. The type of cheap lights that flicker occasionally when the switch is flipped. She's thrown so many parties, invited hundreds of guests, spent fortunes on expensive champagne, hoping to see her love again. And she does. She always happens to spot him by the end of the night. But he never comes inside. He waits where it's scary. He has every opportunity to come in, to make himself at home like he once was, to find her again. He doesn't. He never will. He waits until the music is slow and the lights are dim until he makes his cameo, only for her. If anyone other than her were to see, they’d set out on a quest to kill him. They’d raise their pitchforks and chase the monster to his end. Instead, he’ll rise up out of the water, locking eyes with something he once wrapped his arms around, now far from his reach. She told him once that her door will always be unlocked for him, even if he doesn't have the strength to open it. She knows he will never admit that he'll never find it again. When the party is over, she'll find peace knowing that he's too weak to even try. She'll put away her champagne, party streamers and game pieces forever. If he wants to play, then he’s way too late for that. The monster sinks back into the water for a final time as the former love of his life retreats back into her house, sharp weapons against a wordless coward. He’s always been a terrible sport. Maybe now he'll finally retire at the game, once and for all.
About the Author
Gracie Brinker likes to write, A-LOT; so much so that she has to buy extra storage for her Google Drive just to keep track of all her writings. You'll see many references to pop culture and media within her writings. Although she is quite shy, she uses her writings to express the words she cannot say. You can usually find her reading a banned book or listening to The Beach Boys, or both.
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Amidst the glitz and glamour of a roaring night, between the clinking of champagne glass and casual conversations, slithering through the bump and grind of drunken partygoers, is the shell of a broken woman. She haunts the halls of the mansion like it was all her purpose in life, as if she was born just to die and become a wandering spirit. She tussled with a creature too dangerous and it killed her. They found her body in the ocean, a struggle being had; a rumor of a creature coming up and sending her soul to the seven seas, forever cursing her to wander the waters in search of herself again. Rumor says she may be unaware of the fact that she's dead, so as to never approach her ghost. She attempts to fill the void that the man she once loved left inside her before he had to transform into the hideous monster.
They never played games. People could agree and say that this whole subcategory of dating is disrespectful; roping someone into thinking you like them while instead you could care less. She had never been one for casual kissing, and through the lens of his curious eyes, they both never saw short term. She always thought that was the reason she liked him so much. He never showed her pretend. His love for her was never an act. His smile never faltered when he looked at her. She had once been in love with so many eyes that never sparked like lightbulbs when she spoke, until she met him. Until she learned his heart, she wanted to chase that light forever. She wanted to glimpse across the sea every night and see them shine from a distance. If she could take the opportunity to grasp at every piece of him she could find, she would stare directly into the sun. She would search the skies for traces of him floating in the air. He became a legend only few locals could tell the tale of, but not everyone might believe in its existence. People want real proof nowadays. She began to learn this quickly, wrestling with the current and trying to pull herself upstream.
If she really wanted to, she could have avoided it. It was the easiest thing to do in this scenario. It’s all she really could do. Because if he wouldn’t even give her the decency to talk it out, she had to resort to the aching memories. She wished she could push it to the side and just forget it. She would write it down in her diary and wish on hundreds of stars to forget. It wouldn’t go away. So many people write books on how to just “let go “, yet few of them truly know the feeling of a moment in time chaining them down. Like when the sea monster of unnecessary dread slithers his slimy tentacles onto the ship, wrapping up and tossing a body overboard. The memories will drag you down to Davy Jones’ locker. Where it’s dark, and because it's so dark, there is nothing to keep the mind off the crater in your soul. The loss of the one you once loved will tackle you in the dark. You won't be able to see until you're eaten by the monster in pitch black. Locals will call that monster a myth; a tale that only few claim to be true. Back in those times, they'd lock you away if you so happen to mention anything other than ordinary. Most people just kept their mouths shut; her words swam for miles.
She knows she can move on to whoever she wants, but he still lurks in the deep sea. Until the sword pierces his belly, the beast will continue to drag unwilling pirates into the depths of their weakest moments. There will still be people around to talk about him as long as he’s still alive. Folks gather around campfires to tell the tale of a fabled mythical creature. No, not Nessie. Far worse. They show off their weapons, preaching perilous stories about their encounters with the monster. She can only roll her eyes. They don't know the monster like she does. They’ll never experience the triumph against the deep sea like she has. They can wage war with any creature they want to, but they’ll never know her’s. They won’t know the dread of staring into the eyes of the love of your life and watching them form into a hideous beast. They’ve been telling stories of inhuman transformations since before Jekyll and Hyde; since before they planted the idea of separating the good and the bad into our minds. For some people, you could separate the good and the bad, and one would be significantly larger than the other. Their bad side might be a grotesque amalgamation of pure terror! Something that deserves to be locked away where the public cannot see. And possibly, their good side might be as small as a thumbnail. As in they could squish every positive thing about them between their fingers. Then there would be nothing good to say about the boy that broke her heart. Not that she ever had anything left anyways.
When the monster knows it's night, it will approach the surface with uncertainty. It's a nightly routine. This could be the risk of a lifetime. Just an ounce of vulnerability and it’s dead meat. And then someone will have another story about a monster they've killed. They'll make a plaque about them in the town square; a cheap statue they make about the “hero” that will rust within 20 years. It would be humiliating for the monster, though, so it usually approaches when it knows the world outside is mostly asleep or out enjoying the night. Most people don't dwell on the water during the night, for they believe it's much scarier. When you can't see what's below your feet, your mind immediately races to fear. It's probably the reason why so many people can't swim in natural waters. They've heard of the unlikely tales of an alligator, emerging from the deep and unhinging its jaw, dragging them into the murky depths below. Most people tend to avoid even looking at the water in the dark, because they're afraid of what they might see. The creature will scan the area for any sign of life, but its own eyes will focus instead on the happenings of a lively party coming from a large house. Barely visible through terrible eyesight, but the monster knows it's there. He's been invited before, but he never plans on attending.
She'll see him before he sees her. She spots the outline of his ginormous form, two bright lights shining back at her; beacons of what she's lost. She could spot those lights out of a crowd of a thousand discos, but tonight, they just look like dim bulbs. The type of cheap lights that flicker occasionally when the switch is flipped. She's thrown so many parties, invited hundreds of guests, spent fortunes on expensive champagne, hoping to see her love again. And she does. She always happens to spot him by the end of the night. But he never comes inside. He waits where it's scary. He has every opportunity to come in, to make himself at home like he once was, to find her again. He doesn't. He never will. He waits until the music is slow and the lights are dim until he makes his cameo, only for her. If anyone other than her were to see, they’d set out on a quest to kill him. They’d raise their pitchforks and chase the monster to his end. Instead, he’ll rise up out of the water, locking eyes with something he once wrapped his arms around, now far from his reach. She told him once that her door will always be unlocked for him, even if he doesn't have the strength to open it. She knows he will never admit that he'll never find it again. When the party is over, she'll find peace knowing that he's too weak to even try. She'll put away her champagne, party streamers and game pieces forever. If he wants to play, then he’s way too late for that. The monster sinks back into the water for a final time as the former love of his life retreats back into her house, sharp weapons against a wordless coward. He’s always been a terrible sport. Maybe now he'll finally retire at the game, once and for all.
About the Author
Gracie Brinker likes to write, A-LOT; so much so that she has to buy extra storage for her Google Drive just to keep track of all her writings. You'll see many references to pop culture and media within her writings. Although she is quite shy, she uses her writings to express the words she cannot say. You can usually find her reading a banned book or listening to The Beach Boys, or both.